How To Save A Life
by Rosey Malone
Summary: While on rather boring and dull mission, D'Artagnan learns all the tips and lessons of being a good Musketeer. However, when Aramis is struck with a migraine, he will learn the most important one of all.


**Hello to all! I'm back with this new story that is complete and so loved by the author who wrote it! This has been a plot that I couldn't get out of my head and I had to get it out. Please let share your thoughts as I adore reviews and read each and every one!**

 **I do not BBC Musketeers or any of the characters, I just like to write about them.  
Let the story begin! ****J**

If you would've ask D'Artaganan his thoughts on the morning's events, he would've said dull. He knew that the mission Treville had given them would be easy and quick.

That was what was wrong with it.

Delivering a message to the Comte la' Chavis did not appeal to the excitement that the young, newly recruited Musketeer had hoped for. Rescuing a damsel from a fire, fighting off some Spanish spies at the border, or even disguising as a beggar to collect information was more of what he had hoped for.

He was also surprised that Athos, Aramis, and Porthos did not share in his enthusiasm for danger and excitement. In contrast, the three men seemed perfectly happy with the dull assignment.

"Sometimes it's nice not to have something the makes ya heart pound," Porthos chuckled as he had answered D'Artagnan's question half an hour later. By that time, they were already well out of Paris. There was nothing but empty country-side to stare at while riding.

This seemed to aggravate D'Artagnan further and he rolled his eyes at his ill-luck.

"Yes, well is it too much to ask that the Captain actually give us an assignment worthy of the Musketeers?" He sighed.

"All assignments are critical," Athos corrected turning to eye the lad next to him, "One day you will learn the vital lesson of being a Musketeer."

"What?" D'Artagnan smirked, "Honor comes first?"

Athos halted his horse to a stop and stared D'Artagnan for a moment. His blue eyes pierced into D'Artganan and the boy felt himself get chilled from the mere look his mentor gave him.

Athos' voice was even and steady as he said, "Anything and everything can become a potential danger if you're not paying attention to it." He then rode on.

"Oh," Porthos added, "And don't get killed." He then chuckled.

"You know," D'Artagnan huffed in annoyance, "One day I'm going to write down every rule you three have ever taught me and then write how useless it all has become."

"One day when you grow up," Porthos slapped him on the back, "You'll understand."

"Aramis," The boy turned to the marksman, "Surely you would admit how ridiculous that information is?"

D'Artagnan was expecting to hear some sarcastic comment come his way from the amusing man, but when none did, he turned in his saddle to look at his comrade.

Aramis was looking ahead completely silent. His hat was drawn low over his eyes, almost as if deliberately trying to block out the afternoon sunshine. His whole demeanor seemed extremely tense and rigid. His eyes looked strained as if he was in pain.

"Aramis?" D'Artagnan asked staring in somewhat shock to see the lively man so withdrawn and sick looking, "Are you ok?"

"Mmm?" Aramis looked up. His eyes looked glassy and unfocused, "Yes, 'm fine."

"Yeah, you look it," The Musketeer deadpanned back.

"I'm just tired," The Spaniard rubbed a gloved hand over his face.

"How many hours did you spend with Madame Chappel last night?" D'Artganan winked in knowing.

Aramis looked him in the face and D'Artganan almost thought his smile looked forced. He then seemed to fake a laugh.

"A Musketeer doesn't kill and tell, D'Artagnan." He then tipped his hat and strode his horse up to meet with Athos up ahead.

D'Artagnan shook his head in laughter. He happened to glance at Porthos next to him, expecting the big man to be mirror his own look, but he wasn't. Porthos' face also held a tight expression of worry and concern as he watched Aramis ride ahead

"What's the matter with you?" He asked.

"Hm?" Porthos snapped out of whatever thought he was in and looked at D'Artagnan, "Oh, nothing. Just thinking."

D'Artaganan frowned himself, curious as to what the man was contemplating on. Everything seemed alright to him. There was no immediate danger that he saw and there was certainly nothing that would cause such worry. The Gascon simply shook his head, noting that this was probably _another lesson_ his comrades had yet to teach him.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Late afternoon had turned into a warm twilight. They had one more day of riding upon them before they reached the Comte's estate. Athos had mentioned that this would be a good place to make camp. He had given this instruction while glancing at Aramis, concern etching his features.  
Aramis had said nothing, but simply nodded and dismounted from his horse, unpacking their provisions for the night.

D'Artagnan still felt somewhat lost in this secret between them all. He still hadn't noticed anything that would cause both Porthos and Athos such worry. His thoughts were disrupted as Porthos silently walked up to both Athos and he, quietly observing Aramis.

"He can't make it another day, no matter 'ow bad he wants to." His voice was low and full of concern. D'Artagnan was sure he had never seen Porthos look so worried. Well, except for the time they had left Athos and Aramis to fend for themselves in the convent against a gang of mercenaries.

Instead of looking puzzled, Athos simply nodded removing his hat from his head. He ran a hand through his unruly hair.

"I know," He whispered, "I can go ahead with D'Artagnan. Will deliver the Comte his letter and then return here. You tend to him and make sure he rests."

D'Artagnan was utterly perplexed now. What in the world were they talking about?

"What do you mean?" He finally found the courage to ask.

Porthos and Athos exchanged a look. As if they were weighing the odds in telling him or not. Finally, Porthos spoke in a low voice.

"Aramis is sick."

D'Artagnan chose that moment to steal a glance at the man they were speaking about. Aramis was bent over making a fire. He was looking at the glow intently, as he occasionally blew gently on the heating embers.

And he looked absolutely fine. Not in any amount of pain or discomfort. He looked a bit tired, yes. But, certainly not sick.

"Are you joking?" D'Artagnan asked lightly.

Porthos looked from Athos to D'Araganan. He folded his arms across his chest and D'Artaganan thought he noticed a flash of a challenge in the man's eyes.

"No, I'm not joking. He's in pain." Porthos stared him the face as if daring him to question anything any further.

Athos seemed to read the anger bubbling up just a quick as D'Artaganan had. He layed a hand on Porthos' shoulder as if silently reassuring him of something D'Artaganan couldn't understand.

"He doesn't know." Was all the Lieutenant whispered.

Porthos stared at Athos for a moment and then sighed nodding.

"We'll leave in the morning and then-" But whatever Athos was going to say next was stopped by the sound of a thud.

All three men turned to see that Aramis had dropped his arquebus next to him and had his head in his hands.

Porthos gave Athos another worried look before heading by Aramis. Athos followed at his heels and it was then that D'Artaganan realized that he should be following as well.

Porthos had knelt down next to Aramis and looked as if he was trying to comfort him somehow.

"Mis?" He asked whispering so lightly, D'Artaganan almost didn't hear him, "You ok, brother?"

Aramis sighed rubbing a hand in his hair. He sat up straighter trying to look Porthos in the eye, but he was squinting as if he was trying to stare at the sun.

"That bad, huh?" Athos asked laying a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"He can't even open his eyes," Porthos whispered.

"Can he talk?" D'Artaganan asked. He didn't think he had done anything wrong, but Aramis flinched at the sound of his voice and groaned. He held his head in his hands almost shuddering from whatever pain he was experiencing.

"Keep your voice down!" Athos chastized in a whisper.

Porthos pulled Aramis so he was leaning his head against his chest. He shushed him lightly and ran a hand through his wild curls. Aramis just moaned under the pressure as if just a light touch was causing him agony.

"Get his bedroll," Athos commanded keeping his voice in the same tone as before.

D'Artagnan went to do the task he was bidden. He brought it back in a flash and helped Athos lay it out close to where both men were seated already. D'Artaganan supposed that there was no reason in making the hurt man move more than he had to.

Porthos and Athos then got Aramis layed down on his bedroll, close to the fire to keep him warm. D'Artagnan watched in confusion as Porthos moved Aramis onto his side facing away from the fire.

"Doesn't he need to stay warm?" He remembered his lesson from before and kept his voice low like the others.

"He will stay warm, but that fire ain't gonna do his head any good," Porthos spoke as he rubbed Aramis' shoulder.

D'Artagnan's frown furrowed deeper. Nothing seemed to be visibly wrong with the man, but both Athos and Porthos seemed to see something he obviously didn't.

Throughout all this, Aramis hadn't said one word, which was quite unusual. He just groaned in pain from something and curled in on himself. He buried his face in the blankets, whimpering lightly.

"I'll get the water," Athos offered, heading to where their horses were.

D'Artaganan followed him, "What's wrong with him?"

"Shh!" Athos put a hand to his lips in irritation. He looked back at the two men by the fire and pulled D'Artaganan further away.

"How do you know it's not something serious?" D'Artaganan demanded as they walked further away from the campsite, "He might need a doctor? We can take him back to the Garrison? Or we could-"

"Will you keep your voice down!" Athos ordered in a heated whisper again, "He is not dying. We know how to handle this."

D'Artaganan frowned, "So what's wrong with him?"

Athos took a deep cleansing breath, "That's the first sensible question you've asked all night." He looked back at the campsite, obvious worry reflecting his features, "Aramis suffers from migraines."

"Migraines?" D'Artaganan repeated, "You mean all _that_ ," He pointed behind, "Is caused by a headache?"

"It's not a headache," Athos rolled his eyes, "It's a migraine. There's a difference."

D'Artagnan arched an eyebrow in skepticism. Athos sighed again.

"He suffers from severe pain in his head. This happens once a month," He rubbed his beard thoughtfully, "We thought it was getting better. He hadn't had one for two whole months. It's not just a headache. Aramis is one of the toughest men I've ever met, and I've seen him be pushed to tears by this pain. It usually lasts two to three days."

"You mean there's no cure?" D'Artaganan was horrified by the events that Athos was sharing.

The Lieutenant shook his head, "It's just something that has to run its course. There are some herbs that help him before it really kicks in. He puts them in some tea or something, " He paused shaking his head, "He must've forgotten to take it."

D'Artagnan couldn't believe what he was hearing, "You mean he has this problem routinely and there's no cure for it. So he just has to take it and hope for the best?"

"I know it sounds bad-" But D'Artagnan didn't let him finish.

"What are you guys doing to help him?" The Gascon demanded.

"There is nothing, D'Artagnan! We've known him longer than you, and have lived through this so many times. You think it doesn't kill us everytime we have to see him go through this? You have no idea what this does to me, to Porthos, even worse to Aramis!"

D'Artaganan nodded bowing his head in shame at his words. He knew they were spoken in anger and Athos was undeserving of them.

"You're right," He whispered, "I'm sorry."

Athos seemed to have read the contriteness in his apology. Because in an instant the anger left his eyes and a nod of understanding followed.

"Come on," He walked back to the fire, "He's going to need us now."

D'Artagnan was close at his heels. He felt a pang of sorrow hit his heart as he watched Porthos sitting with Aramis resting on his lap. He was rubbing his back and whispering words of comfort to him quietly.

Athos came by the pair with a cloth and a bucket of water. He whispered something to Porthos and the bigger man nodded. Then the former Comte ran a hand through Aramis' hair, almost as if in silent apology for what he was going to do.

"Aramis, I have the cloth here, brother. Can you move your head towards me?" He whispered rubbing the man's neck softly with his thumbs.

Aramis blinked up blearily at him and Athos' heart sunk at how much pain his brother seemed to be in.

"Thos'?" He whispered hoarsely.

"Yeah Mis," Porthos rubbed his shoulder, "Athos brought some cold water to help with the pain. Can you move your head a bit?"

Aramis nodded silently as if he had been used to this routine for a while now. D'Artaganan assumed that he had too.

Waiting patiently for Aramis to move a bit more, Athos then laid the freshly wrung cloth over his eyes. Aramis winced instantly, but Athos calmed him down, holding his chin lightly and whispered quietly.

"It's alright, Aramis. Porthos and I are here."

Porthos rubbed his chest, "Just relax, we've gotchya brother."

Aramis did seem to relax more. Before long, his breath evened out and he was asleep.

Porthos breathed a sigh of relief. Athos looked at him and then D'Artaganan. He could tell there was so much the lad wanted to ask, but right now Athos had no answers for him.  
Porthos seemed to see the same thing. He simply ran a hand through Aramis' hair again and said, "Now we wait it out with 'im."

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 _4 hours later_

D'Artaganan woke to the sound of whimpering later on. As he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he turned his head to see where the sound was coming from.

A quick glance to his right and he was reminded of the last few hours.

Now Porthos was sitting up laying a calming hand on Aramis' chest. The man was tossing and turning in pain. He had a hand covering his eyes and was breathing harshly from the agony that was obviously driving behind his skull.

Athos had switched places with Porthos and was now the one holding the younger man on his lap. Both Athos and Porthos were whispering something to the marksman, trying to bring him comfort in his unbearable pain.

"Aramis, you need to drink some water," Athos instructed gently.

"I'm ok, Athos," Aramis whispered back eyes laced with pain that he was refusing to admit.

"Mis, you're not gonna get better by dehydrating yourself," Porthos held the water skin in his hand, " I know you're stomach isn't feeling that great now, but you need to drink something."

Aramis nodded sighing in defeat.

Athos held him up a bit as Porthos got him to slowly drink half the water skin.

"That's it," The big man nodded helping him back into a resting position.

"Aramis?" Athos asked, "Did you bring any herbs in your bag."

Aramis sighed, "No," D'Artagnan could help being surprised by how weak his voice sounded, "Mmm," He groaned, "Forgot."

Porthos reached out and squeezed his friend's hand, hating himself for not being more useful. His bit his lip to keep his own tears from falling.

"Hey now," The marksman whispered, "Don't you go giving me…that guilty face. It happens sometimes."

"Doesn't mean you gotta suffer through it without hearing somethin' from me." Porthos reasoned gently, "I don't like seeing ya in pain, mon ami."

"I second that." Athos kept his tone even but his eyes held all the concern he was feeling.

"M'fine," Aramis waved away their concern, "Just…" He winced, "Gimme a couple more days…and I'll be fin n' fit."

Both Musketeers shared a glance with one another. Though they knew that Aramis was right, it didn't make it any easier to bear.

"Besides," Aramis went on, "We know this isn't the first time this has happened. Likely not…going to be the last."

"Close your eyes," Athos instructed trying to change the subject, "Try and get some sleep."

Aramis obeyed and D'Artagnan watched as their leader cared for him. Athos had always come across as the distant and aloof one to him. D'Artagnan had never seen him so openly tactile and caring before. He continued to watch as the Lieutenant gently rubbed Aramis' shoulder. Continuing the even ministrations, until Aramis seemed to relax completely as best he could.

D'Artagnan was watching the event so intently, that he didn't even notice Porthos had come closer to his bedroll to refill the water bucket.

"Why does he get the migraines?" He asked, feeling the urge to want to know more of whatever had been hidden from him.

Porthos looked at him and then at the pair closer to the fire. He was obviously silently at war with wither to share or not. He sighed running a hand through his hair.

"It's really his story to tell."

D'Artaganan nodded still feeling somewhat dejected by being left out. His thoughts were quick to shift however at the bigger man's next words.

"But I suppose you're gonna be with us now, so you've got the right to know." He knelt down closer to the beds, carefully to keep his voice quiet in the night.

"Aramis was badly injured in the Savoy massacre. He got a stab wound to side, which healed quickly enough. But, he was hit in the head…badly," Porthos sighed heavily. Retelling the story was almost as bad as witnessing it, "We found him hurt, bleeding, severely concussed, starving and dehydrated. Athos thought that he was dead for sure. We got him outta there and went to the nearest town's doctor. He treated Aramis and with time and a lot of patience, said that he was on the mend."

"That's good," The Gacon smiled, "Considering the injuries he attained it could've been worse."

Porthos didn't acknowledge the words but stared at the fire lost in his thoughts, "Four days after we got him back to the Garrison, it happened."

"What?" D'Artaganan asked.

" The headaches. Worst I've ever seen. He could barely even open his eyes to look at me," Porthos shook his head in dismay, "The pain lasted three days. We called a doctor but he didn't know what to do for him. Nothing was working. Then Athos paid a mighty bit of money for some experienced doctor to examine him. He ruled it as something called a migraine, which is just a seriously painful headache."

"I wouldn't have thought that _painful_ would be the word to use," D'Artagnan replied, "I mean he looks like he's in agony."

"I know," Porthos looked over at his friend who now seemed to be close to falling asleep, "He usually has it in control. I mean, nothing the doctors were given him was working, but you know Mis, he's too stubborn for his own good."

D'Artagnan smiled at the comment. Yes, Aramis without a doubt, was the most persistent man he had ever met.

"You know those herbs that he uses when he's treating us?" D'Artagnan nodded, "Well, he found a few that help with the pain, but he's gotta be on top of it or one will sneak up on him, like now." Porthos nodded over to where the other two still sat.

"He hasn't gotten one in a while. But I guess with all the stress we've been having lately, he probably hasn't gotten any sleep either."

"What usually helps him?" D'Artagnan couldn't keep the burning question from his mind any longer, "I mean if the herbs don't work and he gets one?"

Porthos nodded, "Darkness. I know it sounds strange, but he told me that bright lights make his head feel like it's gonna explode."

"So that's why you kept him away from the fire?"

"Yup. I figured a bright orange glow wasn't gonna do his head any favors," Porthos absentmindedly threw a twig into the fire, "Also you gotta keep quiet. Loud noises really hurt 'im. He can't eat anything solid on the first to the second day. His stomach an't steady enough for it. We try to get him to drink plenty of water though. That's even come back up on a bad day."

D'Artagnan sighed heavily, "Sounds terrible."

"It is," Porthos rubbed his eyes tiredly, "Athos came up with the idea that cold water works best. He soaks a cloth in some cold water and lays it over Aramis' eyes. It helps when the migraines are at it's worst. I don't know how he takes it so well. But every time one is over, I noticed that he's still drained for a few days."

There was a silence for a while as both men became lost in their own thoughts. Finally, D'Artagnan spoke up again.

"Does he talk about it?" Porthos stared at him in confusion, "I mean he never told me about it. I never knew that he experienced…" He paused, "Has he ever been open with anyone about it?"

"You know Aramis," Porthos looked over at the man again, "He hates anyone fussing over him. The only reason we found out when we did was that the pain was just too bad to hide. After that, I had a talk with him about being honest with us when it got bad. He tried to hide it a few more times after, but Athos and I just got real good at reading him. Noticing the pain in his eyes, how quiet he gets, the flinching from the noises."  
D'Artagnan nodded. That was one thing he had noticed about the trio when he had met them. They seemed to live inside each other's pockets and knew each other as good as themselves. Perhaps that had been the step he had failed in learning amongst his fellow comrades. Learning _about_ them rather than always _from_ them.

"This doesn't make him any weaker of a soldier," Porthos went on. The man seemed quick to defend his point, "He's still one of the best soldiers I've ever fought beside. He'll always be the best shot in France. And we trust him…" He glanced at the fire, "Always."

He looked as if he was about to say more, but a sudden noise of distress from Aramis had the bigger man heading off toward the pair to return to his intended duty. D'Artagnan continued to watch them as they spoke in hushed whispers, wondering about his own place inside this unit.

He recalled how he had early assumed that Aramis' fatigue was due to a late night with a beautiful woman. Aramis had not corrected him but only played along with the lie. Guilt blossomed in the pit of his stomach as the Gascon laid back down in his bedroll. He could hear Athos' words of wisdom from early.

" _Anything_ _and everything can become a potential danger if you're not paying attention to it."_

D'Artagnan had laughed at those words, but now he was realizing just how true they were. Why, if Aramis and he had been traveling alone, he would've believed the man to be fine and not even think to check on him. And that could've proved to be a fatal mistake.

He had fallen asleep with these thoughts on his mind and a renewed attitude on his mind.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The next morning, D'Artagnan had awoken to the smell of breakfast cooking and low voices speaking. He turned around on his side and noticed Porthos cooking over the fire.

"Morning," He greeted, voice kept on a more regular tone, "Breakfast is almost ready."

The Gascon threw back the blankets and went over to help. He had to do a double-glance when he saw Aramis sitting upright with Athos next to him. Both men were conversing about something serious because Aramis looked as he was trying to explain something important. Athos, on the other hand, was simply shaking his head.

Athos seemed to have noticed his gaze because he glanced in his direction and nodded his head in acknowledgment towards him.

"D'Artagnan," He arose and went over to him, "Would mind sitting with Aramis for a moment while I check the horses?"

D'Artagnan stared at the older man for a moment, before nodding dumbly.

"Thank you." And Athos went off to his task as he everything was perfectly natural to him. Well, in fact, the truth was that everything _was_ perfectly fine to him. He was aware of what he had asked the boy to do. He would never learn about this problem if he didn't communicate with the one person who knew all about; Aramis.

D'Artagnan at across from Aramis and grabbed a stick to poke at the fire. Porthos had followed along with Athos leaving just the two of them alone.

Aramis glanced over at the Gascon and sighed in sympathy. He wasn't sure if D'Artagnan was nervous to speak to him or simply burning with questions as the younger man often was. Before he could think of anything to say, D'Artagnan had started speaking.

"You look better," He nodded, "Than yesterday I mean."

"Thanks," Aramis smiled, "I'm feeling better."

There was an awkward silence between the two, but Aramis was set on moving past it.

"I'm sorry. For not telling you about it, I mean." He ran a hand through his curls, "I was going to, someday. I just didn't think that..well I didn't think _this_ ," He waved his hand to gesture to their surroundings, "would happen now."

"It's alright," D'Artagnan nodded, "You have the right to keep whatever you like private."

"No, I wanted to tell you about it," Aramis continued, "You're a part of our brotherhood and you should know. It's not something I'm ashamed of," He huffed a laugh, "I can't control it anyway. I just wanted to tell you in a way which wouldn't make it seem so.."

"Honest?" D'Artagnan offered with a grin.

Aramis laughed and D'Artagnan joined in as well.

"Yes," The Spaniard nodded, "But I probably should've told you sooner. I mean…I didn't want you to find out like this."

The young man nodded again, "It's okay, really. Porthos, he um…he told me about how it started."

Aramis seemed to tense at that. He released a breath and stared off into the fire.

"Sorry," D'Artagnan was quick to apologize, "I shouldn't have asked him."

"No, it's fine," Aramis replied, "It's just… hard to talk about."

"Savoy?"

Aramis nodded silently. D'Artganan could almost see his thoughts turning back to some darker time he obviously was trying very hard to forget. Perhaps that's what Porthos had meant about reading his thoughts.

"What was it like?" He took the chance and asked, "I mean you told me how Marsac left and what happened. But being there I mean, after it all…what was it like?"

Aramis looked at him with a certain confusion and defense in his eyes. Perhaps he had gone too far in asking. After all, it really was none of his business. Before he could begin to over think it himself, Aramis answered.

"Hell," He stared at the fire lost somewhere, "It was hell on earth for a week. And after that, it was hell in my mind for a long time after," He blinked and looked back at D'Artagnan with a determination in his brown eyes, "But it's a hell that I escaped, conquered and will never go back to again."

The words made a chill go down D'Artagnan's spine. He nodded back in understanding. He then felt compelled to say the next words with a firmer resolve then the marksman had.

"And you never will have to. Not with us beside you."

It seemed to do the trick because the pain seemed to leave Aramis' eyes and a warmth spread back in them. A warmth that D'Artagnan was more used to seeing in the man's face, and it brought a smile to his own face as well.  
"I know," Aramis smiled back, "That is the one thing I know without a doubt."

Athos and Porthos watched as both their younger brothers kept conversing over the fire. They were laughing and talking just like before. It brought a smile to Porthos' face.

"Well, looks like they're both gonna be fine." He grinned.

"Indeed," Athos held a rare smirk of his own, "Did you doubt it?"

"No," Porthos shook his head, "But, I am doubting that we'll get any breakfast at all if we leave these two to keep eating it all. Come on!"

Athos laughed as he followed Porthos back to the fire to get his own fair share of breakfast.

 **Hope you all enjoyed that! Any mistakes that you see are my own, so please be kind as you're reviewing! Sorry that I've been gone for so long, but I'm back now and will hopefully be able to continue one with my unfinished story!  
Cheers and Happy 2019 to all! ****J** **  
**


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